


Hilda

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: fantastical elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25649029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: First Helga had sat at that desk outside the Kommandant's office. They had come to depend on Helga for so much.  But then, without warning, she was gone, and a new secretary came to take over.  Hilda was Helga's cousin, or so she said.  Could she be trusted?  Would she be as helpful to their cause?  That was something yet to be determined.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	1. Introduction

First Helga had sat at that desk outside the Kommandant's office. Oh, she hadn't been the first, but the first since Hogan arrived. Such a pretty woman, so capable, so caring. 

She had been an easy mark for Colonel Hogan and his charms and his smooth-talking ways, and the men figured that was lucky for them. Whether it was 'lucky' for Helga, they tried not to think of - well, Hogan DID keep her supplied with the occasional box of chocolates and a new pair of stockings now and then. And they'd seen no signs of her being unhappy with the arrangement. And they never thought poorly of her, for either giving in to Hogan's blandishments, or the sometimes less polished approaches from other men - the officers and influential civilians who showed up at camp and liked what they saw in the attractive blonde secretary. Well, the Command Crew knew, as well as anyone else, that in wartime, a woman (just like a man) did what was necessary to get along.

They had come to depend on Helga for so much, bore her good will and a considerable amount of offhand affection, and not just because the sight of a pretty woman was such a morale booster. 

But then, without warning, she was gone, and a new secretary came to take over. Hilda was Helga's cousin, or so she said, and Hogan found nothing to counter that claim. But could they trust her as they trusted Helga? Would she be as talented at managing Klink and the office? Just as important in their opinion, would she be as gullible, as open to Hogan's manipulations? Would she be as helpful to their cause? That was something yet to be determined.


	2. Excerpt From Helga's Journal

Excerpt from Helga's journal, written after the war, long after her own escape from the camp -

"There was such a need there, and I ached for leaving them without my support, but I could NOT stay, not with the secret I was carrying. Yet, how could I bear to leave them alone, at the mercy of whoever might sit at that desk? 

So much was possible from that seemingly inconsequential desk - oh, not what I would have liked - to end the war, to send all those men back to their homes, their lives. But still, so many little things could be done, if the right person sat at that desk - a person with enough courage and determination, a person able to lie and manipulate, plot and conspire, cheat and steal, yes, and whore, as needed. (Though why it is called 'whoring' when undertaken by a woman, though not when the same activities are pursued by a man, I've never understood or accepted.)

I thought long and hard about who could replace me, but knowing who to trust - that was the issue. To choose the wrong person was unthinkable! I could not risk those gallant men - men wearing uniforms of both sides of the fight - with someone of less than rock-solid determination, someone who might falter in their resolve when they truly realized the difficulties and risks involved. 

In the end there was only one I could approach with that level of confidence, though it made me shudder to think of putting her in that situation. My cousin Hilda, with whom I had grown up, who knew me and my secrets as well as I knew her and hers - yes, she had the strength of will, the determination, the courage to take on that task.

Oh, Hilda was most efficient, no one could question that. She could have handled the job with her eyes closed - the job of managing the Kommandant and the Kommandant's office, that is. 

As for the rest? That was a much more difficult thing; it had been for me, certainly, and I actually enjoyed a man's touch - the right man, in the right situation, of course. Unfortunately, at the camp, in the job I had undertaken, that was rarely of my choosing, and even more rarely enjoyable. 

Hilda had never enjoyed, never yearned for that special touch, not from any man she'd ever met. I could see that being to her advantage in some ways, at least as far as falling prey to some smooth liar, an accomplished manipulator, of which the camp had at least one in permanent residence. 

Well, being otherwise had led me perilously close to, even into a trap I would not wish on any woman. I was lucky, unbelievably lucky. For me, when the jaws of that trap closed, they closed gently, with comforting warmth and a sort of affection, not from the ravening predation of a rabid wolf, but from a shared circumstance no one could have foreseen, certainly not the compassionate soul who shared that cold bombed-out cellar in the darkness.

No, that trap was not something I would have sought out on purpose, but while it made escape necessary, it was not the nightmare it could have been. When I look into my daughter's eyes, when I see kindness and goodness, an intelligence matched with innocent and gentle intent, I know full well what I could be seeing there instead of those familiar eyes, and I call myself blessed beyond all women for that sweet mercy.

For Hilda, I could only imagine the level of distaste such necessary interaction would be to her, and could only wish her strength in holding onto her core, her innermost realization of self. 

Hilda understood, she swore, even after hearing all my stories, having held me so often as I shuddered and wept in her arms, about the others, the Generals and all those officers who passed through the camp. The civilians who had power even if they didn't wear a uniform. The one in camp who controlled and manipulated even as I worked to manipulate him in return.

She understood, but firmed her mouth and told me, "if you managed for as long as you did, having them touch you like that - if Marya can do what she does, and Marie as well, I can too! Who better to wield such a weapon than one who needs not fear it being used against her warmest emotions in return?"

But, no matter her words, she didn't understand, not in the beginning. At least, not about the Colonel, about the level of his games, about the expectations. Well, it WAS difficult to explain to anyone who had not experienced his skill as a game player; I remembered how long it had been before I truly awoke, truly SAW what he was, felt the revulsion start to build. 

I feared for her, I truly did. It was one thing, I had found, to accept those physical attentions and demands from those who knew you had no real interest, was merely doing what was expected. 

To respond to one who seemed to feel you should be thrilled, grateful even, for his attentions, to find yourself forced to pretend to be so - to offer what was expected there? Perhaps it hadn't been difficult in the beginning, contrasting what he had to offer with the others. Perhaps I had even held some wistful, very foolish dreams, but that hadn't lasted, only til I really saw what lay behind that charming smile, those deceitful dark eyes. 

For Hilda, there wouldn't even be that initial time of pleasure.

How could she hide her distaste when those hands reached out for her, when that smile, that voice urged her to tell him secrets, urged her to share 'untold delights', delights that were to her about as appealing as scrubbing a long-neglected toilet? And the distaste would be there, surely, along with the urge to let him know just how unappealing he truly was, for all his vaunted looks and charm and so-called talent. Well, Hilda always had despised that sort, from when she was just a child, as we watched others of his sort display much the same 'tempting attributes'. 

(She wouldn't be alone in that, of course, that inner desire to hold up a mirror, reflecting how they truly saw him. I had felt it on more than a few occasions; Marya had often expressed a similar desire, and Tiger? Oh, the venom in that sweet voice when she spoke of that 'hero', leader of a band of true heroes; well, at least THEY were worthy of the name, had the respect of all the members of that little Sewing Club we had been a part of.)

And it wasn't like my cousin didn't have another choice; she did, if she decided to abandon her apartment and her office job and escape the war entirely. It was a very unusual choice, to be sure, one that would have taken her from me forever, but one that would have given her absolute safety, a way that would have brought her to the happiness she so richly deserved. 

But she was determined, on all levels, to do something to aid in the battle. She paid for that determination, my dear cousin, in so many ways, though not with her life, thankfully, though in the end it was a close-run thing. 

Still, it was thanks to others that she escaped that fate, even as my own escape was due to the kindness of others putting themself at risk for my sake. 

My prayers, morning and night, during the war and every day since, are for those who gave me aid, lent me their support - the true heroes of Stalag 13. And, most especially do I offer prayers for the one who gave me so much more, my sweet daughter."


	3. Not Again!

"Sergeant, I have a problem." 

Hilda, the new camp secretary, had dropped in to see Sergeant Wilson, bringing the requisition forms he would need to order supplies. Not that he would necessarily get those supplies, but the effort had to be made. The forms he had expected; that calm, if slightly tense statement, he had not.

He winced, {"please! Not again!"} remembering hearing those very words from Hilda's cousin, Helga. And while Hilda's problem was hopefully different from what Helga's had been, it still might be something difficult and rather painful for him to deal with. 

He was finding it hard to deal with the difficult and painful right now. Losing Massey to pneumonia, well, it had hit everyone hard, but the medic perhaps most of all. He was expected to deal with things like that, make it go right. 

Well, at least HE expected it of himself, even though the others in camp knew even Sergeant Wilson wasn't a miracle worker, and Massey had come into camp a very sick man. Truth be told, everyone else was surprised Scotty Wilson had kept him alive even through those few days, especially with Massey being allergic to the penicillin they'd procured for him at such risk. 

"Sergeant Wilson, I would like for us to be friends. Helga spoke very highly of you, said you were an honest man, one I could count on to tell me the truth. At least, as much of it as possible. You see, Helga gave me her impressions of the men here, especially the ones in Barracks 2. No, she was not being indiscreet, but if I am to help, and that's why I'm here, after all, not simply to type and file papers, I need to know certain things and she understood that. 

"My problem is, what I am seeing and what she told me are quite different. Can YOU help me make sense of it all? For I believe not only my life, but perhaps yours and the lives of everyone here just might depend on me being able to see clearly. I don't want to make a mistake, make the wrong assumptions, do or say the wrong thing at the wrong time. There's just too much at stake."

Yes, Scotty Wilson could see her delimma. The men of Barracks 2 were both what they seemed and also something quite different. Well, that was really only the tip of the iceberg. After all, their personna as prisoners of war was one thing, and naturally would differ quite a bit from their roles as part of Hogan's command team. 

But he had a feeling that wasn't what Hilda was talking about, and he had to agree. In fact, there were times when HE caught glimpses of layers upon layers and that had frequently confused him, especially in the beginning. Of course, when you thought about it, most men had multiple facets, some even conflicting ones. A quick image of Colonel Hogan's face came immediately to mind and made him wince in discomfort.

Helga had told him Hilda was trustworthy, would do what she could for the men, but just how much could he safely tell her? Perhaps the question was more, just what was she asking?

"Perhaps if you tell me your impression, AND what Helga told you, about each man?" Even that made him uncomfortable; he had an odd feeling that Helga may have seen, known things even he hadn't - perhaps more than he really wanted to know. {"Of course, what I want probably isn't the most important thing right now. Grandfather always said being a doctor, helping people, caused a man to wear an almighty number of different coats, keeping a lot of secrets, and while doing a great deal of good, also led to a hell of a lot of sleepless nights."}

They both realized that now the trust being asked was going in both directions, and there was a long pause.

{"I know we could be interrupted and I really should start with the most important one first, but I'm not sure I have the nerve to do that quite yet. Perhaps I will start with one of the others."} 

"I believe the one who confuses me most is Sergeant Carter," Hilda admitted.

{"Well, me too, I'm beginning to think,"} Wilson thought wryly.

"I mean, is he as innocent as he appears? Innocent and clumsy and gauche, such a simple soul, if you know what I mean? He blushes if I so much as smile at him. He never fails to be courteous and helpful, and there's never a hint of anything inappropriate. But we have talked some, while he was cleaning the office, and he has said things of such a fiercely romantic nature, with such a look in his eye! Oh, not directed at me, I assure you. But, he was thinking of someone, I could tell. And not my cousin, either, because when I brought up her name, it had no impact other than a very genuine, "she's such a nice girl! I hope she'd doing okay wherever she is," and he's never asked anything about her, not once. Helga just smiled when she spoke of him, and told me that he both IS what he appears, and at the same time, NOT. But that I could trust him never to do me harm."

"And Corporal Newkirk. Even Helga admitted HE was an unusual one, though she said he was truly on the side of the angels. She laughed and said that she wasn't sure the angels would be all that comfortable with that, nor would he be comfortable hearing that said out loud - that there might be offense taken on both sides - but that it was nothing less than the truth. 

"What is most obvious to the eye is a man who looks for what they call 'the main chance', and you would think he would stay out of the line of fire, so to speak, in that endeavor; yet it seems he cannot stay out of trouble. According to the records, he has more accummulated cooler time than any other ten men in camp, and even considering he was among the first to arrive, that is really quite remarkable. 

"He has a sly way about him, a seemingly inborn arrogance, but he turns servile in a flash when confronted by authority; except when he turns frighteningly defiant, of course. He appears to bully and dominate the others, at least Carter and LeBeau and Olsen, perhaps even Kinch; yet Helga called him the 'protector', told me that but for him, each of those men would have perhaps died without him placing himself between them and danger, never minding the possible cost to himself. He never flirts with me, not in earnest, yet I think he would be quite adept at such things. 

"He appears to always be watching Colonel Hogan, as if anticipating a signal of some kind; I would think them confederates, but it does not always seem an easy partnership. There is sometimes a sort of - well, not affection, exactly, but something of a harsher connection, as if there is a leather tie stretching from one to the other. Sometimes in Newkirk, when I think I see that tie pull on him, demanding a response, I see only watchfulness, but sometimes apprehension, a certain wariness, sometimes something more disquieting. It is the oddest thing, but . . ."

Her voice trailed off. Somehow even voicing what she was thinking was just too frightening, too horrifying, to her mind. But she couldn't help what she thought. {"If one of them were to be found dead, by violent means, I would be looking to the other as the first suspect. There is too much there - too much bitterness and anger, too much pain on Newkirk's part. And on Hogan's? That sense of smug entitlement, even a calculating and cold ownership, as if Newkirk is his to use or dispose of however he wishes. That is just so sick!"}

Wilson sat quietly for a moment, then sighed, and filled in some of the missing pieces on those two men, though avoiding saying much about Hogan, as best he could manage. 

There were the others in Barracks 2 to deal with, but the interruption by Sergeant Schultz letting her know that the Kommandant was looking for her cut that short.

Hilda thought over all she had been told, all that had been hinted at. While what she had learned from Sergeant Wilson had broaded the picture, provided detail, had added brushstrokes that brought more meaning to the painting, still, there was much left unsaid. Of that she was sure.

Well, she would learn more, she was also sure of that. That what she learned about the others would be highly uncomfortable, that was also a given, considering what she already knew. 

That was perhaps why she had not asked about Hogan yet; what she had already learned, on a very personal level, was already highly uncomfortable, quite unpleasant in many regards.

Now, in the late evening in her small flat, she wanted to think over what she had learned, but the walls, sometimes sheltering, now seemed too confining. 

"I'll take a walk; that should help," she told herself with some determination. Taking a quick glance out the window, she saw it was a quiet night, but with a faint hint of frost showing on her windows. Snow would come soon, and perhaps ice along with it. 

That brought a warm smile of anticipation to her face. While most might dread the cold, the snow and ice, to her, for her, it meant something quite different. It meant Jackie, her best friend from childhood on, might be able to stay longer this time, not have to rush away as she had the week before. Yes, the snow, the ice - that meant, no matter how odd it might sound to anyone else, warmth and love and belonging and acceptance.


	4. Best Friends

Jackie had meant warmth and love and so much else for so many years now. Such had been the case since Hilda had dashed away from the groping hands of her laughing, drunk Uncle Boris at a skating party on the edge of the lake near her family's home. She'd been six at the time. 

It hadn't been the first time Uncle Boris had gotten silly like that. At least, that was what her grandmother called it when Hilda had asked her to "make Uncle Boris stop pinching me! It hurts!" Indeed, there were black and blue marks up the insides of her legs and on her buttocks where the fifty-ish-year-old laughing Boris had caught her up and nuzzled her neck with his damp mouth, then pinched her, ever higher as the long day went on.

Grandmother had scolded, well enough, but HER, not Boris. 

"He is just being silly, Hilda! Stop making a fuss. You are such a foolish, tiresome little girl sometimes! Your Uncle Boris is paying for this entire party, the beer, the food and everything else, and you should be grateful!"

Hilda had been tired and cranky, enough she let her usual common sense be overridden by her 'foolish' side. She'd put her hands on her hips and declared, "I don't WANT to be grateful! He pinches me! It hurts! He wants me to sit on his lap and I don't want to! His mouth is wet AND he smells bad!"

That had gained her a sharp slap by her grandmother, who pushed her toward the grinning man waiting on the other side of the bonfire.

"Go, apologize to your uncle! And if he wants you to sit on his lap, you sit on his lap, you ungrateful little urchin! It won't be for long. The snow and ice is coming very soon; I can feel it in my bones. We will be leaving soon. GO!"

With quivering lips, Hilda had started around the bonfire, but then stopped, looking at the smiling man, smelling of stale beer and highly-scented aftershave, reaching out for her, and instead dodged his hands, turned and ran into the woods surrounding the lake. 

Boris had turned away in annoyance to go and bother one of the older girls; he didn't bother to mention her flight to anyone. Her grandmother had turned back to her conversation with the other women, and when the snow and ice started, everyone piled back into the sleighs and headed back home. No one missed her, no one realized Hilda wasn't tucked away in one of the shadowy corners like usual. No one realized she hadn't tumbled out of the sleigh with the other children, all of whom dashed in to get undressed and crawl under the covers for the night. 

Not til morning, and even then no one realized for quite some time what must have happened - six year old Hilda, orphaned and unwanted burden on an already-overburdened elderly grandmother, must have been left behind. Left behind to survive on her own in the snow and ice of the previous night. 

Hours after she'd dashed away from the group, Hilda roused from her curled position in the sheltering hollow of a rotting tree trunk, slowly raising her frost-covered eyelashes to see another girl standing there, worried frown on her face, leaning down to survey the odd thing she'd found in the woods.

"Are you an angel?" Hilda had asked, surprising a laugh out of the girl with the long platinum hair caught up in a long braid.

"No, no angel, I promise. Why, were you expecting one?" 

"No, but you have to be an angel," Hilda had argued, "you're too pretty not to be. Or maybe a princess?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, my papa calls me his Frost Princess, so maybe that suits better. My name is Jackie. Who are you, and why are you out here alone?"

Hilda sat up and shyly gave her name and in just a few words described her flight and the reason for it. "And I don't LIKE him, Jackie! Not at all!"

The older girl snorted, "and I don't blame you! I don't like him, and I haven't even met him! Come on, though; you can't stay here. Old Three-Toes is hunting tonight, and you'd be a sweet temptation for that old wolf," and she gathered Hilda up, brushed off the snow, and urged her along, her arm tight around the younger girl's shoulders. Jackie was maybe a head taller than Hilda, but not so much taller as to make that an uncomfortable reach.

While Jackie's papa had been surprised at the unexpected guest, he hadn't been unwelcoming. He had fixed both girls a bowl of hot noodle soup, and a meltingly-good toasted cheese sandwich. And HE didn't try to pinch her or make her sit on his lap, so Hilda relaxed with her new friend and the two girls laughed and giggled into the night. 

And when the storm was over, they took her to her cousin Helga's house, not her grandmother's where she'd lived since her mother's death, where Herr Frost, Jackie's father, had explained matters. And it was with Helga, and Helga's parents that Hilda stayed from then on. Everyone (well, except for Uncle Boris) was much happier with that arrangement, especially since Helga's parents didn't allow Uncle Boris to set foot on their property, not for any reason.

A friendship was born between Hilda and Jackie, a friendship that had never wavered, had only grown stronger as the years passed. They still laughed and giggled into the night, many a night, even when Hilda was in her late teens. Hilda shared the stories of school, and her first job, and her cousin Helga, and various friends, and much else; Jackie told Hilda stories of other-worldly creatures, and silly pranks, and other things as well. Each girl, each young woman, lived in the world into which they had been born, but each found themselves increasingly with at least one foot in the other through their connection to each other.

And, eventually, they found themselves sharing more than laughter and giggles and stories, and discovered a richness in that sharing that no other sharing had ever even begun to match. A richness even the war could not diminish, not even after Hilda took her cousin Helga's place at Stalag 13.

Now, clasping her coat around her, Hilda hurried down the street to where she knew Jackie would be waiting for her. Sometimes, knowing Jackie would be waiting for her was all that got her through the rough times. It was certainly all that got her through having to pander to, and cater to Colonel Hogan, along with the other officers whose eyes fell on her. 

According to the years-long pact between them, there were no lies, no avoiding of difficult subjects, and Jackie would hear about the camp, the men there, those who served, those who were imprisoned, those who merely were passing through. While she would have much preferred Hilda not be in such a situation, Jackie respected the other's decision to take up Helga's place, at the camp and in that odd Sewing Circle of feminine plotters against Hitler and all he stood for.


	5. Survival Tactics

Hilda had asked them, those of that Sewing Circle, how they dealt with it, the intimate necessities of their roles. Each had shared their own ways. 

Well, not Gertruda - Frau Linkmeyer professed herself glad that she was not young and alluring enough to make that a part of her own particular role. 

"Not that I ever truly was, except perhaps to my sweet Otto. Any who would approach me now, it would be for access to my brother, and it is my brother who offers me protection from such nonsense. Oh, I know, he makes a huge noise about wanting me to marry again, putting me in the way of 'eligible' men, but it is merely a ploy he has found useful on more than one occasion. If nothing else, it can panic the one he sets his eye on enough to make them less observant, even careless. In particular that poor Kommandant from Stalag 13 - he gets even past the point of being able to thinks straight!" she'd laughed.

Marie, known to many as 'Tiger', had nodded understandingly at the question. 

"Oui, it is not easy, at least for me. And it can be a trap, sharing such intimacy with one who is at least pleasant and not unattractively harsh leading you to imagine there is more there than what it is. Oh, not love - surely we are all too smart for that, but at least some small tenderness. Do not believe that, not of any you come into contact with, Hilda, please, for your own sake.

"In particular, I would warn you not to let Papa Bear worm his way into your affections. He will try, out of habit if nothing else, but placing your reliance there - non, non, non! His men? They would be more likely to bear you some kindness, yes but he will resent it greatly if you are too affectionate there. Understand, he would USE any such affection if he saw the benefit, for a time at least, but he would make you AND the man pay, in one way or another, sooner or later, when he felt that usefulness was at an end."

Hilda had asked Marie, hesitantly, "I've heard you refer to them as a band of heroes. That warning seems otherwise."

Marie gave a feminine snort, a knowing, even bitter look on her face. 

"A band of heroes, oui, THEY are that - I will swear that to my dying day. Papa Bear's band of heroes. THEY, his men, THEY are heroes! HE likes to think of himself as such, but to my mind, he is less a hero than an opportunist, first, last and always. HE will be rewarded greatly for what he accomplishes in this desperate game they play, if he survives this war - he has been promised great rank, great influence, much else. THEY, on the other hand - well, none will speak of their deeds, their sacrifices - they are pawns, in his eyes and in the eyes of those who give the orders. It is said such secrecy is needed in case this ploy is needed again, but to my mind? It is that to allow their part to be lauded would be to diminish his, and so that will never be allowed. Do not forget, I see the transmissions from London; I know what Rene is being told, from all sides."

Hilda shuddered, a sudden empathy for those men who followed Colonel Robert Hogan building inside her. In truth, they were not so different from her; her role would never be known, and for her safety, that was probably, no, certainly best. But for them - it seemed such a betrayal if the Allies won this war and they were forgotten!

"But how do you manage, the show of, well, affection, or enthusiasm, or whatever else is needed? Do you pretend he is someone else? Do you picture another's face, another's form, someone who would be more pleasant to be with? Someone you love?" 

She flushed at having to ask that overly personal question, but she needed to know. Heaven knows she was unlikely to feel any such affection; was certainly not going to feel enthusiasm, yet somehow she must learn to feign such emotions, such a response.

Marya was the one to answer now, with a great negating shake of that auburn head, though Marie was expressing a similar denial by the look on her face. The Russian's accent became deeper with the force of her argument.

"NO! Do NOT do that! Oh, if there is someone who you might think of a little more kindly, perhaps then. Though, even then there is the danger of murmuring the wrong name at the wrong time; that could be disasterous! But NEVER try to picture the face, the form of one you truly care for! That is perhaps the worst blasphemy against the altar of true love, true caring! 

"And there is a trap there, as well, one you might not see until it is too late. I learned that the hard way. For, you see, when you have set the target aside, the task completed - when you once again settle into the arms of one you truly care for? You could just as easily awaken and see, feel only the face and form of the one whose very memory sickens you to the soul! There was one beloved from my girlhood; after but a few months into the task set forth for me, luring one after another into my bed, into my influence, I could not picture his eyes, his smile, without joining them to the harsh hands, the vile touch of those who had come later. When we met again, even the sight of him made me want to vomit; that never changed, and I promised myself I would never again make that mistake."

Marie nodded, "I realized Marya was right, for she gave me the same advice some time ago. I didn't listen, not at first, but quickly learned, never again put Rene's face on anyone's form but his own. Now? Now, as she suggested, I pretend I am a great actress, the best of all the world has ever seen, and each encounter the pivotal scene in a play performed for the most discriminating of audiences. And when it is over, and I am off stage, I scrub off the makeup and the sweat and the smell, and search out and reclaim 'Marie, the person' who is incidentally also an actress.

"And as for the 'enthusiasm', there are ampules I will give you. They melt, you see, quickly, and a man trying to sense your arousal will be unable to tell that the moisture is not your desire for him but from quite a different source. Some will not require, or expect that, of course, but Hogan will. He truly believes it takes only a glance, a smile, and a woman is simply oozing with desire!"

Hilda took note of all of that, along with a goodly sampling of those ampules, and found it was all most helpful. 

The encounters with the visitors, those were in fact easier to deal with. None of those were expecting affection or anything like - a willing, warm and clean female body was sufficient, as long as she put a nice smile on her face, let her eyes conceal her total distaste.

Kommandant Klink made no approaches, thankfully, though Helga had told her it would be unlikely if he did. 

"I think he either does not feel the attraction, or is too afraid to let any attraction show. I know he has never expressed any interest in me, other than gruff appreciation for my work, and a rather pathetic gratitude for any small shows of concern I might have given him," Helga promised.

Colonel Hogan, now he was a different story entirely. 

Hilda had awaited that first approach, had decided just how reluctant, how reserved she should be, how quickly should she allow him to manipulate her with his charm and cunning ways, his proferred gifts of chocolate and stockings. 

He would never know that Jackie brought her much finer chocolates, and the mere thought of eating what he brought her made her memory reflect on the feel, the taste of his mouth on hers, its wet invasion into hers, and made her stomach rebel. 

His offerings made their way to whoever she felt it would be most advantageous to cosen. Sometimes that was Schultz or one of the other guards, sometimes her landlady, sometimes someone else. Sometimes they were used to obtain supplies to slip unseen to Sergeant Wilson, things that had been denied when he had submitted his requisitions. She would have done the same with the stockings, used them for her own bartering, except that Hogan expected to feel that material under his own stroking, searching palm, and she dared not offend him by not wearing them to their encounters. Oh, she traded away a pair when she had an extra, but always she kept one pair for him to stroke his hand over, to gloat over.

So she took care to accept his gifts with a wide-eyed appreciation and enthusiasm, a look in her lovely blue eyes that portrayed an intelligence no more than a quarter, perhaps even a tenth of her own capabilities. 

And she always reminded herself, before each rendezvous, "you are not a partner in love-making, Hilda; that is not your role, your purpose. No, you are to be a mirror to how he sees himself - the master charmer, the manipulator whose intelligence looms over anyone else, particularly a mere female. Just go, get through this. Listen to his words, let him manipulate YOU, worm what information he wants from you. Casually drop the information he needs to know but has not asked for. Do not pull away, do not grimace in disgust, whatever he wants, demands from you. Soon you can go home and scrub off all traces of him. Just, do as Marya and Marie say - do not let him touch any part of you other than the physical! The physical can be cleansed, with effort and time - the rest, perhaps never!"

It was not easy, but that pep talk did let her prepare herself. Still, bringing up that eager smile, keeping it in place when he drew her near, his cologne making her shudder with the memories of last time, it was difficult. Luckily, he seemed not able to distinguish between that shudder of disgust and a shiver of eager anticipation. She occasionally thought that rather odd, for one of his supposed intelligence and intuition. Well, the size of his ego DID make all else seem small by comparison.

And occasionally, when he called for her too often for her to regain that sense of self, she DID allow herself to put another's face, another's form in place of that handsome, smug one. Oh, never her Jackie, never her own love! But one of the other men, yes, she allowed herself that, though always very careful not to give any hint of which one she tried to convince herself she held in her arms.

She had explained the game once, with Jackie listening to all she said, nodding with understanding. It had taken time, of course, to get to know the men somewhat better, but she thought there was more truth than fantasy in what she imagined of each of them.

"Kinch, he would be a strong and caring lover, and very, very careful not to let his strength lead him to inadvertently harm me. LeBeau would bring humor and laughter to the bed, along with charm and grace - to a level of which Hogan only THINKS he himself possesses. Carter, I imagine, would let me lead, would not approach me, but I think he would be an enthusiastic and grateful lover once we got past the preliminaries. Though," she laughed "I imagine he would not stop chattering the entire time!"

"The one I would have to be very careful of, in my mind, is Newkirk. The Englishman presents a harsh picture to most - uncaring, self-absorbed. But he isn't, not any of that, Jackie, not really. I think he would be a very considerate and capable lover, even if he felt no personal attraction to the woman he was pleasing. He has as many secrets as I do, I believe, and he loves just as intensely, although not wanting to let any know who and how much he loves! I certainly do not know, though I have wondered on occasion.

"The problem is, with him I think there would be a danger very much unlike the danger with Hogan. With Newkirk, I would have too much concern that we just might accidentally touch each other's souls and leave fingerprints. It would not seem possible, yet, I can feel the possibility and it makes me be very, very cautious with him. He seems such a private person at his core. We have enough to deal with, in so many ways, I would not like to burden him any more than I wish to take on an added burden myself."

She'd looked at her love, hoping Jackie wouldn't be offended or feel jealous, and was relieved to see she wasn't. No, she felt no sexual attraction to the Englishman, but neither did she feel as if she would be soiled by his touch, as she felt by Hogan's and so many of the other 'visitors' to the camp.

It was after one of those talks, one of the sessions where Hilda had wept in relief at having Jackie's arms around her, Jackie's lips on hers rather than Hogan's, that 'Admiral Kirchner and his lovely daughter Jacqueline' visited Stalag 13. The aftermath of that visit relieved Hilda of Hogan's attentions for several weeks. Well, frostbite of the nether regions DID take awhile to heal!


	6. Minding Your Manners

Hogan knew he had too many irons in the fire, although it was hard to admit that, even to himself. He liked to think of himself as being able to handle anything - the master juggler keeping a dozen plates spinning in the air, even as he was waving his magic wand and making a rabbit appear out of a hat, while at the same time making a volunteer disappear in a wall of mirrors! 

Still, with Hogan doing 'prize prisoner on parade' with Klink and Burkhalter and those two visitors, with LeBeau and Newkirk working that dinner party in Klink's quarters (goal, to steal, photograph, then replace those maps in the visiting officer's briefcase while Hogan was schmoozing the Germans), Olsen doing his 'outside man' routine, and with Kinch tied to the radio and the telegraphy-machine, there was no one left BUT Carter to send out with Lieutenant Blake. London wanted the man back ASAP and wouldn't hear of any delays just because of 'some little logistical problem that we are SURE you will be able to manage with just a bit of effort, Papa Bear.'

Still, it shouldn't be a problem - just a simple little job. Carter was to get Blake safely to the local Underground unit. Rene would take it from there, getting the man to the exit point. So, when Newkirk expressed concern with sending Carter out alone, the others backing the Englishman up, Hogan had to lay down the law. It was fine for Hogan to have a qualm or two, but it wasn't his men's place to question his final decisions!

And, after all, Carter seemed confident it would all be fine. 

Well, Carter was USUALLY confident it would all be fine - until it all went wrong. He was confident he could make it all the way across the barracks without tripping over anything - until he didn't. He was confident he could safely carry that load of uniforms from Newkirk's tailor shop to the storage area - until he got distracted by a spider "with really interesting markings!" and dropped the whole pile onto the dirt floor. 

Yes, Carter had confidence - what he didn't have, at least not always, was the ability to live up to that confidence. 

Except where making things explode was concerned; there he excelled and no one doubted him. Oh, it still made them nervous to see him handling those devices with such careless ease, but they were getting better about maintaining their composure the longer he went without blowing himself or any of them sky high.

(Oh, and he had confidence in a few other things, primarly connected to Corporal Peter Newkirk, but that was a different thing entirely.)

So it was with a wide smile that Carter listened to that final briefing Hogan had given him and Lieutenant Blake. 

"Andrew, you be careful, you 'ear me?!" Newkirk said in a low voice as the two were headed out the tunnel.

"Oui, Andre, you are to be MOST careful!" LeBeau affirmed, while Kinch gave a serious nod.

Hogan rolled his eyes. Talk about over-protective!

"Sure. Okay. But, like I said, it's a piece of pie. No problem. See you later," Andrew said with a confident nod. "Come on, Lieutenant. This way."

Funny, Lieutenant Blake had been perfectly agreeable, not argumentative at all, those two days he'd spent in the tunnels. Of course, Hogan had been around, as well as the other guys, so that probably had a lot to do with it.

Now, alone with only one man who wasn't even an officer, his tone changed. Suddenly HE was in charge, and they'd not been in town more than a few minutes before he pulled Carter to a stop.

"Now, where do we go to get a decent meal and some booze? Maybe a woman, too. Yeah, definitely a woman."

The man was rubbing his hands together and smirking like he was on leave in London, not on the edge of the business district of Hammelburg, Germany.

Carter gaped, then shook his head firmly. "You'll have to wait on that, sir, til you get back to London. The Underground is waiting out behind one of the shops; they'll get you to the coast - "

Blake frowned, "they can get me to the coast a couple of hours from now just as well as right away, Sergeant Carter. First things first."

"Shush! No names, not out here! And keep your voice down; there's people around, ya know??!" {"What the heck is he thinking??! We're in the middle of town, for Pete's sake!"}

"Fine, fine. Now, about the food and drink and that woman. Maybe that place down there? It looks interesting," and started toward the Hofbrau, Carter frantically trying to pull the man back. Unfortunately, Blake was a lot bigger and stronger than Carter, and while Carter was able to slow him down, he couldn't totally STOP him.

"Now that one, she'd do," the lieutenant said confidently, and Carter groaned as he recognized Hilda crossing the street in front of them. 

No, she wasn't likely to turn them in if she saw them, recognized Carter, but she wasn't going to be interested in what Blake had in mind. Of course, Carter wasn't really sure what Blake DID have in mind. Surely he didn't just think he could walk up to a German woman and sweet talk her into having dinner with him! Heck, Blake had no reason to think Hilda would even speak English, and Blake had told Hogan that he didn't speak German, more than a couple a words.

"So, we cross over, you grab her from the far side, I'll grab her from the other; we'll cover her mouth and pull her over into that alley -"

Carter stopped dead in his tracks, almost losing his grip on Blake's arm in the shock of realizing what Blake had in mind.

"Are you nuts??! You can't just go grabbing women off the streets and into an alley and . . . "

Blake snarled at him, "well, I'm not taking her out for tea and crumpets first, if that's what you thought."

Carter thought madly about what might convince Blake, without Carter having to try and knock him across his head with the pistol he had in his jacket. That could really complicate the whole 'get out of Germany fast without any complications' idea. For one thing, Blake was too darned big for Carter to throw over his shoulder and carry off to meet Rene, and even if he WASN'T, that was the kind of thing that would likely get someone's attention.

"But that's Hilda!" he gabbled frantically. "She works at the camp; she knows me! This could bring it all down, don't you see?! The whole operation."

Blake paused, then nodded firmly. "Okay, so we blindfold her as WELL as gagging her. If she still recognizes you, we just make sure she can't talk afterwards. One little squeeze, doesn't take much, not as much as you'd think," and Carter realized, appalled, that the officer was mimicking strangling someone.

He gaped at the officer, and Blake frowned, now getting annoyed. "Look, Sergeant. She's a Kraut. They owe us, plenty, and she'll do for a starter."

Blake started toward Hilda, and Carter desperately pulled out his revolver and, dropping behind slightly, started to raise it to slam the man over the head, when another women exited the side street ahead of them and motioned for them to come closer. She had a beguiling smile on her face, a knowing look that marked her as either a professional or an inspired amateur in the amatory arts.

Carter gulped, his eyes meeting the knowing ones of the newcomer, and slowly put his revolver back in his jacket. He just hoped to heck he was reading this right!

The woman Andrew Carter had known as Jacqueline Kirchner stood there, exuding a warm sensuality that should have melted the bricks of the buildings surrounding them. That almost made Carter break out into a nervous giggle. Well, HE remembered what getting too fresh with Jackie had brought to Colonel Hogan; he could only imagine what BLAKE'S plan would cause!

And what HAD Blake's plan caused? Well, it was perhaps a little awkward for Rene and his crew, lugging a semi-conscious, curled-up and shaking Lieutenant Blake out of that alley and along the exit route, but for Carter, and Hilda, and Jackie? None of them had any regrets. 

In fact, none of them had anything but sheer satisfaction, watching Rene haul the groaning man along to be delivered to the sub waiting for him. Carter wondered if the medic on board had any experience with severe frostbite. If not, Blake might be in a little trouble. Carter couldn't bring himself to worry much about that. In fact, he kinda thought that might be a pretty good thing, at least for the women of the world, if not for Blake himself.

"Thank you, Andrew," came from Hilda, with a kiss to his cheek. 

"Yes, Andrew, thank you," came from Jackie, his other cheek getting a balancing kiss.

Well, yeah, that felt great, "but Hogan . . ." he said, eyes widening as he remembered he was to have some explaining to do back in camp.

"Do not worry, dear Andrew. Colonel Hogan has what he wanted, that one handed off and now on his way to his destination. It could have been otherwise, you know. I could have arranged a very different destination for him; had it not brought trouble to you, I would have," Jackie let him know, and he believed her, no doubt about it, from the look in her eyes.

Now, how to explain all this back at camp? The truth, of course, if pared down to the skinniest of bones, just might do the trick.

"No, no problem, Colonel. Rene headed out right after I got Lieutenant Blake to him. Piece of pie. Well, I think maybe he was catching a cold, kinda seemed like it, but other than that -" Carter told Hogan with a casual shrug.

Newkirk sipped at his coffee, gave Carter a look out of the corner of his eye. {"Alright, Andrew. Just w'at mischief 'ave you been up to? The Colonel may believe that rubbish, but I know you just a little too well. Think we need to 'ave another little talk, somewhere private. 'Piece of pie' my ruddy arse!"}


	7. Favor For Favor

Carter's mouth dropped open as Hilda cautiously told him what was needed. Sure, he figured he could make everything she was asking for, but jeeze, he'd never done anything quite like that before! Well, yeah, essentially he HAD, maybe, but not like THIS! Not FOR someone, not for someone to use to, well, to do something like THAT!

His expression went from shocked to horrified, then slowly to intrigued. He figured he COULD do what was needed, and if you looked at it just right, if things went really wrong, it was kinda a good thing to do for them. Not that he would have suggested it, of course, but since they'd asked. 

Not that Hogan could ever know; boy oh boy! 

He figured the officer would hit the ceiling if he even had a clue, but maybe not for the same reasons someone else might have. No, as long as the two asking the favor could be useful, Hogan sure wouldn't want Carter doing anything that might cut that favor-giving short. Of course, Carter was also pretty sure Hogan had never realized the two were actively helping, not just being clueless dupes of one or another of Hogan's games. 

Sometimes, he figured, his mom was right - it was real easy to overlook the individual trees in a forest, or was it the other way around? Whatever, if he did this, it was going to totally be on the qt; no siree, he wouldn't even tell Peter or the guys! Well, maybe Peter - after the war - a long, long time after the war.

And so, in due time, after a little experimentation and lots of trial and error, Andrew Carter delivered four packages to Hilda - each contained an explosive device (though of very different construction and appearance and size and strength) and two poisons, one in a perfume bottle, the other in a false tooth that had been given to him by the young woman. 

He didn't know how it was going to turn out for General Burkhalter and his sister Gertrude, but he'd done what they'd asked. He really hoped they didn't need to use any of that, but if they DID need to, he really, REALLY hoped they could use it all in time. That it all WOULD work, well, he didn't have to hope there; this was some of his very best work, a repayment in some small part for the many favors he KNEW him and the guys owed those two, along with the many others he figured had been given but he'd never even know about.


	8. Favors Remembered, Favors Forgot

Hilda shivered and hugged herself. It was a warm day; it wasn't a chill breeze that caused that shiver, but the sight of the Allied soldiers swarming the camp. The contact she'd had so far had been enough to give even the most resolute of women the cold shivers. 

The Kommandant had been placed under additional guard as soon as the troops arrived, though Colonel Hogan had already done that, primarily for his safety. What they thought one sad, broken unarmed man was going to do against them, she didn't know. They had even taken his monocle away, leaving him blinking at them at less than half vision.

Most of the German soldiers were long gone, taking the opportunity to change to civilian clothes and disappear into the countryside. That was at Colonel Hogan's urging as well. At least he was showing that much gratitude for the forebearance and outside-the-rules consideration that had been shown him and his men under Klink's - well, really, under Sergeant Schultz's leadership, backed up by Karl Langenscheidt and a few of the others. Or maybe, she thought cynically, he'd just wanted to impress the incoming officers with how there was no resistance, the camp demoralized, left almost abandoned, totally under Hogan's control.

Schultz was still here, had refused to leave, being determined to see it through to the end, determined to see that 'his boys' were on their way home at last. Langenscheidt was here as well, and Brust and Dieter Van and one or two more that Schultz could trust; men who were determined not to leave the Sergeant without some backup. Hogan had made promises there as well; only time would tell if those promises were kept.

Hilda had remained, uncertain where her duty lay, though Hogan had suggested most strongly that she stay, that it would "really be to your benefit; much safer too." 

She wasn't sure that was meant to be comforting reassurance or a threat - knowing Hogan, it could be either. And he had made sure she had no opportunity to leave with any of the others, of course.

She was placing reliance on Hogan's assurances that she would be safe, no matter what, though she wondered if she was being overly-gullible. As little as she trusted him, and understandably so, she had thought maybe she could trust him on that, since he had also suggested her assistance would be invaluable in deciphering the records in the files. With Hogan, as she knew, if there was a reason that benefited HIM, he could lay a finger on the scales in another's behalf, and perhaps it would be so this time.

Now she was increasingly sure she had made the wrong decision in not at least trying to slip away. The officer in charge of the new group was abruptly dismissive of her, rough in the way he'd shouldered her out of his way. Several of the soldiers were looking her up and down, making sly, laughing suggestions they perhaps assumed she wouldn't understand. Well, even if she hadn't understood English quite so well, she would have understood those sly looks, those gestures.

Swallowing deeply, she moved, slowly, carefully from the doorway of the inner office, and then slipped out the front door while they were swearing at the locked safe, the locked cabinets. Obviously they hadn't been told about Newkirk and his magic fingers; and their roughness and vulgarities had given her little incentive to point out the location of the keys or that scribbled combination under the picture of a spring meadow overrun with scores of Hitler Youth proudly marching in unison.

Hogan was nowhere to be seen, blast him! But his men were in view - Newkirk, Kinch, Carter, LeBeau - and more to the point, they saw her, saw her rising panic. Working together, they made their way over, surrounded her, but with their backs to her, shielding her from view.

"I need to get to the Kommandant's quarters. Please, help me!" she managed to whisper. That had been their plan, she and Jackie, if things went very, very wrong. Jackie hadn't elaborated, there hadn't been time, but there had been such assurance in those sparkling eyes, that voice, that Hilda just KNEW if she could get there, she would somehow be safe.

"Trouble, 'ilda?" Newkirk offered in a low voice.

Her voice was thready, and she placed one hand on his shoulder as if to gain comfort from his presence. He could feel her trembling through his jacket, and gave a slight frown, glancing at his teammates.

"I'm so afraid! They - I think - ". How was she to say that she felt like a lamb in the midst of ravenging wolves, that she could already see her torn body tossed into a corner somewhere when they'd finished with her.

She didn't have to say, it turned out.

"I thought the colonel said he'd taken care of that," Kinch muttered, as they casually made their way in a group to the porch, then to the door of Klink's private quarters, Hilda tucked in the center unseen. There they paused, Hilda now at their rear, pressed against the door.

"Perhaps le colonel has not as much control over these men as he would like to believe," LeBeau noted.

"And maybe he's just too busy being the big-shot," Carter said, half under his breath. Well, the senior prisoner of war, now on the far side of the compound, wasn't acting too concerned about anything other than slapping a few fellow officers on the back, smiling, nodding, even laughing at a few of the comments.

A breath of something stirred Carter's hair, a faint scent of snow filled the air around them.

{"Snow?? At this time of year? That doesn't make . . ."}

Then he smiled, and nodded. {"Yeah, it DOES make sense!"}. The newly-present chill came from behind, from inside, and without turning even his head, he quickly urged Hilda inside.

"Go on, get inside. I think someone's waiting for you."

Realizing how that sounded under the circumstances, he hurried to add, "a friend, I mean. A real GOOD friend. We'll see no one comes inside for as long as we can. It's gonna be okay. Least I think so. And, Hilda? If we don't get another chance to say goodbye? Thanks for everything; you've been great. We KNOW how much you did for us; we'll never forget that."

The other men gave each other another quick glance, more than a little puzzled, but the small whimper from Hilda, not one of fear anymore, but one of eager anticipation gave them some slight reassurance. 

"Goodbye, boys. Thank you, and good luck!"

They heard the door open, just enough for Hilda to slip inside, then close again, the lock audibly being engaged.

"You sure about this, Andrew? I could go and see if I can get Hogan's attention, make him understand she's in danger," Kinch offered. He knew Carter could be a little off the wall sometimes, but at other times, there was such a calm assurance, such a rock-solid KNOWING that it was a little unnerving, almost forced you to accept what he said as being nothing less than fact. But why he figured Hilda would be safe inside that wooden structure once the others came looking for her, that Kinch didn't understand.

Carter gave a bland look at their commanding officer, still across the way, still oblivious. 

"No, don't bother him; you can see he has more important things to do." While the tone was all as you could ask, there was an underlying note they all understood. Hell, a note they understood and agreed with. When was Hogan going to remember his promises to Hilda? When they were loading her into an ambulance? Maybe when they were lowering her into a quickly-dug grave? Ever?

Well, THEIR memory was a little better, their determination quite a bit stronger. Now, the four men lounged against the door and surrounding wall, blocking the view, casually discussing who knows what. When a visibly annoyed Hogan finally approached them, it was in the company of one of the new arrivals, the officer who'd been in charge of dealing with Klink's office.

"Guys, have you seen Hilda? I promised Matthews here that she would go over the files with him, get him into the safe. He says she disappeared when his back was turned. She can't just go running around camp, you know! She may have given us a hand sometimes, but she's still part of the staff here. I can't give her protection if she won't stay put!"

From the bland looks he was getting, neither he nor anyone else could begin to read the four men's real thoughts, which was probably all to the good. That his 'protection' for Hilda seemed a pretty far way down on his To-Do List, that Hilda had 'run' for a damned good reason, that he seemed to have a damned short memory if all he could say was 'she may have given us a hand sometimes', and quite a few other things - none of them overly-complimentary to him.

"Maybe she got nervous, Colonel. Some of these guys might not have realized she was under your protection," Kinch offered quietly.

"Yeah, Colonel. Can't blame a nice girl like Hilda for getting a little skittish. Well, you know - guys away from home, wartime, maybe they might forget their manners. My mom always said you should never forget your manners, especially with a nice girl, but maybe someone never learned that, maybe?" Carter worked hard to keep his anger so far under the surface as to be indecipherable to anyone, well, except for Peter and his teammates who knew him quite well.

"Dare say she'll come around, Colonel 'ogan, once she sees yer looking for 'er. Always did, didn't she, w'en you were needing 'elp of some kind? Reliable type, 'ilda is. Pulled our bacon out of the fire more times than I can remember, ain't that right, sir?" Newkirk drawled, included the new officer in that smiling statement. "Don't know but w'at she saved a few of our lives on many an occasion. We owe 'er a debt for that; wasn't easy, could 'ave put 'er in real bad with the blokes in charge, but she still 'elped when she could. 'Ate to see 'er in a bad situation now; 'ardly fair, I'd say."

LeBeau had remained quiet, the new officer having glanced at him earlier and dismissed the small man dressed in a ragged French uniform as being of no importance. Now he spoke, not much, but with true sincerity.

"Oui, she has been a loyal friend to us. I wish her bon chance, and will pray for her safety." His dark eyes were inscrutable, his face much the same.

But it would appear Newkirk was mistaken. Hilda didn't 'come around', and though there was a thorough search, they found no sign of her. Not then, not ever.

Once Hilda had closed and locked that door behind her, she'd turned. Ice crystals were starting to form, rapidly covering the floorboards and carpet, the furniture, even spreading up the wooden walls to touch the ceiling - all in a sheet of glistening white.

"Jackie?" she whispered, holding her breath for a reply.

A low laugh, one she'd heard and loved most of her life, answered her, coming from the platinum-haired young woman now standing in the doorway to Klink's bedroom.

"Yes, Jackie. NOW are you ready, Hilda my love? Your charges are now safe, or as safe as they can be; there is nothing more you can do for them. You have no influence over the fates of Sergeant Schultz or his loyal men; it is to be hoped Colonel Hogan, perhaps with some firm urging from his men, will at least remember his promises there. After all, a promise from one man to another, even if in a different uniform, perhaps has a deeper weight than one made to a mere female, yes? The others of your Sewing Circle are beyond your help - dear Gertruda finally with her sweet Otto, and the cunning Marya now encircled by those who will protect and care for her. Marie is with Rene, and he will do everything he can to keep her safe. Even the General has reached his own destiny, one he chose with a great deal of satisfaction.

"Come, our transport is waiting. My father has opened a way, will secure it for enough time for us to reach safety. Will you come?"

Hilda looked into the smiling, beautiful face of Jackie, the very image of a Frost Princess, and sighed in relief, in anticipation.

She had done her duty as she saw it; she had remained, knowing she might yet have an opportunity to help these men who had befriended her cousin Helga, whatever uniform they wore. But yes, Jackie was right. Their fate was now out of her hands.

"Gladly, eagerly, oh, with all my heart, Jackie! Let us hurry!" Hilda replied, rushing into the waiting arms of her sweetheart, her forever love.

And more frost formed in the opening between the living room and the bedroom, and the two made their way through. A rear door formed where one had never before existed, and they passed through the chilly mist and climbed into the silver and blue sleigh waiting for them. With one word, the creatures in front moved away, they and the sleigh they pulled and the two women seated within disappearing between one step and the next. Once they had departed, the frost inside the Kommandant's quarters turned to ice, and gradually the ice thickened, til the men outside could feel the cold as if they were standing in one of the tunnels during the deepest of winter. 

Carter listened, heard that faint tinkling of bells, the faint snort of possibly a horse {"maybe a reindeer?"} he thought with delight, and a shusshhh as if of the metal runners of a sleigh, then silence. 

He smiled a bright innocent smile. "Hey guys, let's go get some coffee, okay?"

Kinch looked at him, worried frown on his face. "Maybe we should stay here for awhile, just be sure she's safe."

"It's alright, Kinch. She's safe now, safe as houses, like my mom always used to say. I think I can pretty much guarantee that," Carter answered with a smug look.

The others looked at him, then at each other, and nodded. Somehow, they believed that.

And, when Hogan returned, even more irritated at not being able to locate the missing secretary elsewhere, he went inside the Kommandant's quarters to search there. But other than the place being cold as blue blazes, with a wet film covering everything for some odd reason, he found nothing, not a trace. No one ever found a trace, and the disappearance of Klink's secretary remained one of those wartime mysteries brushed aside. 

Of course Hogan found that as annoying as hell; after all, he'd assured the officer in charge that the young woman would be helpful, cooperative. Well, disappearing like that wasn't what HE'D consider helpful OR cooperative! 

{"And after all I did for her! All the gifts, all the favors! Just goes to show you can't trust a woman to keep her word! Should have known better in the first place!"}

**Author's Note:**

> Stories referenced: 'Helga - A Friend In Need', 'Each In Their Own Way', 'It's A Cinch', 'The Return of Otto Linkmeyer', 'The Death of General Albert Burkhalter', 'A Devoted Teacher', 'Women' and various others


End file.
